


To Build A Home

by BetsyByron



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: (although it's always been there), (offstage), Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Friendship, From Sex to Love, M/M, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want you to see me naked.”<br/>“You’re joking, right?”</p><p>Q and 007 have found a satisfying way to relieve the pressure of their jobs from time to time. But when James tries to take it to the next level, it doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a little while back, inspired by...I can't remember the name of that movie. It's about two boys who are neighbours, one of them is being abused by his father and takes refuge next door, and the two start going out. If I'm not mistaken there's a nice scene at the end when they dance together in the sun, out in the open.*
> 
> Anyhow, I dug that up because I'm sad tonight and affection depraved and I wanted new reactions and comments. So, even if it's a nondescript little story, do say Hi if you happen to like it! 
> 
> (And if you're at all interested, there are always my other works for something more substantial. I'm not a great writer but I try to keep the juices flowing)
> 
> *EDIT: It's "Beautiful Thing" (1996)

“I don’t want you to see me naked.”

Q had crawled to the other end of the bed, backing up when 007 had started working his way up his clothes. He looked like a child, eyes wide and spooked behind his glasses, knees pressed to his chest and arms folded, fingers gripping his cardigan as if James was about to tear it off him – which had actually crossed his mind, if the spy was honest.

“You’re joking, right?”

Although it was the first time they had taken it out of a dark corner of the office, it wasn’t remotely the first time the two of them had fucked each other senseless. Now that James was thinking about it, it had indeed never involved taking enough time to remove all their clothes first.

Which was precisely why taking it to the next level had sounded like a very appealing idea; Q was most definitely a good shag, but James was curious to see and explore the lean body under the layers of clothing. Hell, it wasn’t everyday James Bond was having sex with the same person – and a man, with that – twice and more.

“Lights out.” Q requested.

“Shy, are we?” James smiled as he climbed on the bed, leaning in to kiss his lover.

He felt he had a right to call him that now that he was sitting on his pillow and about to come apart under his touch. He well intended to take his sweet time about it, for once. The perfect fantasy, however, implied being able to see the reactions on Q’s face.

He had another try at the cardigan’s buttons while Q’s hands were busy stroking his hair, but the response was immediate; Q broke the kiss and pushed him away – tried to, considering the agent was about twice as strong as he was.

“Don’t.” He pleaded. “I don’t want to do this with the lights on.”

“Why?” James asked.

“Please.” Q simply answered.

Because he looked so enticing when he begged, and because James’s pants were really beginning to feel too tight, he did not try to get to the bottom of it and switched off the lights.

As soon as it was dark, Q was running his hands all over James’s body, kissing the skin he uncovered, and letting the other man strip him without the faintest trace of his previous reserve.

James touched him, every inch of him, closing his eyes so the dark would not seem forced, composing a mental picture of Q’s body from what he felt under the tip of his fingers, the tip of his tongue. The boy was writhing and moaning in the most arousing manner, and James wondered how long he could keep that pace up before he snapped. As he gently tugged at one nipple with his teeth, Q’s fingernails dug into the back of James’s neck.

“James.” he gasped. “God, James, you’ll make me mad.”

James ignored him, making it a personal challenge not to give in just yet. He kept teasing until Q spoke again, his voice hoarse and filled with more desire James had ever heard in any of his numerous conquests.

“For Heaven’s sake, just fuck me already.”

“How now, Q.” James breathed against his skin. “You don’t enjoy foreplay?”

“No.” Q said, although it sounded like a lie. “And I didn’t think I’d have this problem with you, of all people.”

James made a mental note to question him on the issue later. Right now, there were more important matters to attend to.

*

“You smell like coffee.”

Q flinched as Bond spoke too close to his ear, breathing in his neck in a way that tickled and made him shiver.

“Do I.” He snapped back.

His tone was screaming irony, although James wasn't sure where that came from. Q raised his gaze from the screen to the agent and saw the way he was looking at him.

“No comment.” He bid before Bond could make one.

He felt himself blush as the other man just smiled. He knew trading his classical white shirt for a black turtleneck wasn't the best look, but he hadn't had the heart to let go of the cardigan. It was the only thing that made him feel safe these days. Not that James would understand. Not that he would explain it to him.

*

Although Q had clearly been avoiding any kind of talk since that night James had first brought him home, kissing James harder than ever every time he had a chance so they couldn’t discuss the elephant in the room, he did not resist when the agent forced him into a taxi after a long day at work and lead him to his flat once again. He did let out a sigh as he removed his parka.

“James, I...”

“Don’t get to talk.” James cut in, pushing him into a kiss, into his room, onto his bed.

Things heated up as quickly as they always did. James, however, seemed to be following a very precise train of thoughts; when Q realised what he was doing, it was too late. James had swiftly removed his tie and bound Q with it without his even noticing – his wrists were tied together and to the bed frame and his arms were stuck up there, giving James full liberty to play with the buttons of his cardigan.

“No.” Q scowled, trying to pull away (not with very much success). “James, we talked about this.”

“Did we?” James smirked, undoing the buttons slowly, one by one.

“I don't want that.” Q reminded him.

“But I do.” James retorted. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to rid you of your stupid cardigan. And now I've come this far...”

He flipped the cardigan open and slid his hands back up Q's chest, then started undoing the shirt buttons. Q jerked back, pushing into the mattress but unable to get very far from James's hands.

“I said no!” Q cried, and now there was a hint of panic in his voice.

James ignored it. He was hard as a rock from kissing and undoing buttons; like hell he was going to stop there.

“And why would you have the final say in the matter, my dear Q?”

He leaned in to kiss the skin he was ever so slowly uncovering, biting gently on the collarbone, making himself wait – it did take a great deal of self-discipline not to rip the shirt open and suck on the young man's nipples.

“James.” Q pleaded again. “James please.”

He tugged at the tie again, but the knot was strong. James sat up to look at him, spread out on his bed yet so resisting. He licked his lips. He wasn't used to Q – or anyone for that matter – resisting him and he found it turned him on more than it should. Especially now that Q had this serious little frown on his face, the same he showed when he was in front of his computer trying to crack something and James couldn't topple him over on the desk as he wanted to. Right now, however, he could do absolutely as he pleased and watch the cleverness in Q's eyes melt into pure desire. He reached for the next button.

“Stop!” Q yelped, and his tone had changed.

“I don't think so.” James replied, although a little voice in his head told him maybe he should care.

“Stop.” Q begged, “And I'll strip for you eventually. But not like that – please, James, not like that.”

James stopped. He stayed there straddling Q for a while, before he untied him and got up to stand by the window. The rustling of fabric told him Q was hastily putting all of his layers back in order.

“Why is it such a sensitive issue?” James had to ask. “You do realize I've been _inside_ of you.”

“Yes.” Q said softly. “I just need you to accept that your eyes on my skin are a bigger deal to me than your cock in my ass.”

“Is it now.” James commented dryly.

“I don't mean that in an indifferent way, it's just...not the same kind of intimacy. I'm not ready.”

“Fine.” James said.

Q could see it wasn't, but he didn't add anything.

*

“Shouldn't you be with Q?” Eve asked as James poured her a third glass.

James shrugged, and she paused for a moment.

“I'm all for getting smashed with you and this honest-to-God amazing scotch, but I'm warning you, I'm not letting you shag me because you two had a fight.”

James had a smirk – a joyless one.

“Otherwise you would?” He argued.

“Not since I know you prefer them pale and short-sighted.” She acknowledged.

James emitted a sound that was close to a growl.

“Talk to me.” Eve offered.

“About my sex life?” James snorted. “Right.”

“I keep secrets.” She assured. “Otherwise the whole office would know about you two instead of just me. Although I must tell you...”

She hesitated.

“What?” James pushed.

“It's starting to show.” She said. “The way you look at him as if you've seen him naked.”

James had to laugh – again, not much joy put into it.

“I might look at him as if I've stuck my tongue in his mouth and elsewhere,” he said, “but I haven't seen him naked.”

He hated the bitterness that was seeping in his voice. Eve raised a brow.

“I never thought your relationship was more than sexual,” she said hesitantly, “but I imagined it did imply some amount of nakedness.”

“Not with Q.” Bond replied dryly. “At least not for me.”

Eve put her glass down on the table and leaned in to rest her elbows on her knees, turning more serious.

“It's very intimate.” She said carefully.

“That's what he said. I don't get what difference it makes since we've already...”

“I don't want details.” Eve interrupted. “What I'm saying is, not everyone carries around a body like yours. Some people are very conscious they're not built like a god.”

James frowned.

“You think Q is ashamed of his body?”

Eve shrugged.

“Maybe he doesn't want you to scan, compare and judge. I get that.”

“What exactly does he think I'm attracted to?” James groaned.

“That, my friend,” Eve smiled, leaning back in her chair, “is something you have to discuss with him.”

*

James had weighed the pros and cons in his head over and over for days now. He did not do feelings. He did not do attachment. Not since Vesper anyway. Talking to Q would be acknowledging that there was something between them that needed talking about, that their relationship went beyond the occasional shag. James wondered if he hadn't already crossed this line the moment he had brought the young man back home.

On the other hand he really, really wanted to see him naked. Ever since they had been working together he had been drawn to him.

Amused, at first, by his scrawny teenager look, careless and featuring lots of cardigans.  

Intrigued, then, by how he had succeeded in passing the MI6 try-outs (even the geeks had to go through basic physical training) with that slender body and wrists that looked like 007 could snap them like twigs.

Obsessed, finally, by the spark of genius in the wide, devilishly clever eyes behind his glasses, by the fingers that ran on three keyboards at a time and still had time to bring the cup of tea to his lips. Those lips.

Q was a mystery and a constant surprise, as he had proved that one night when James, tired and sore, had been looking for a bit of human warmth and Q had given it to him.

It had slowly become a habit whenever James came back from a particularly tough mission. Then any mission. Then any fairly good excuse they could think of. Then every occasion they got.

“James.”

In some corner of his mind, James registered that this was actually the third time someone was calling his name. He turned to see Q looking at him with a little frown.

“Hm?”

“You’ve been zoning out for five minutes.” Q mocked. “Don’t do too much thinking in one go, the lack of practice puts you at risk of brain damage.”

“I’m afraid the damage is already done.” James smiled back. “Why else would I be tangled in you.”

He got up from the desk he had been sitting at pretending to do some research when actually he was mostly eyeing the curve of Q’s hips, which was as good a way as any to enjoy a quiet afternoon out of the field.

“Speaking of which...” he approached the young man.

Q didn’t let him finish.

“I have to go home.” He said quickly.

James found himself raising a surprised brow.

“You have a home?” It just came out.

Q had a wry, almost sad smile.

“Not much of it.” He said. “But yeah.”

He made as if to go, but James grabbed his arm.

“Wait, I wanted to talk.”

There was a flicker of gravity in Q’s eyes, but he chose to resort to humour, as often.

“Just so you know,” he said, “this thing you do with your tongue is not talking.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking about, tempting as it sounds.” James kept his tone serious. “I really want to talk.”

“I really need to go home.” Q replied softly. “We’ll talk later.”

*

Q didn’t show up for work the next day. When James didn’t ask – he didn’t have to, Moneypenny spotted the inquiry on his face from the other end of HQ – he was told the work was being done, that Q was here albeit not physically. That didn’t make him feel better. When Q was away from his beloved computer room for more than the length of a lunch break (if even that), he was usually between James thighs.

Towards the end of the day, he received a text from a hidden number.

_“Please don’t worry.”_

James smiled, but that wasn’t quite enough.

_“Only if you tell me.”_

There was a long moment without answer, when James imagined Q must be thinking if he wanted to let James in whatever private thing was keeping him away from the MI6 offices – or elaborating a complicated lie, who knew.

“ _My mom is ill_.” The answer finally came. Seconds later, another text.

_“And yes, I have a mom.”_

God, was James’s first thought. He’s so young.

“ _Give her my best_.” He wrote back. “ _And bring back your sweet little ass here asap_.”

 *

“Eight days.” James muttered against the skin of Q’s neck, hands already reaching for the button of his trousers. “Eight fucking days, Q. What have you been up to?”

“Let’s not talk about it.” Was Q’s reply. “I did my job, you did yours. I’m back.”

He reached for a kiss, which James supposed was at least partly to shut him up. James thought about asking if his mother was better, but there might be a more appropriate time. Eight days, and they were expected in M’s office in fifteen minutes. There wasn’t a second to spare.

Q had wrapped himself up around James like a needy child, but he cringed and muffled a cry that sounded more like pain than pleasure when the agent’s fingers dug into the small of his back.

“’What’s wrong?” James asked.

“Nothing.” Q declared. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

As much as he didn’t want to, James drew back a little. Just to check, he pressed his hands again on Q’s back, who failed not to react at all.

“Are you hurt?”

“I fell down the stairs.” Q replied in a small voice. “It’s only bruises.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Let me see.” James insisted.

“And what will you do about it?”Q sighed. “It’s not like you can magically make them go away.”

James gave him a very gentle kiss, and stepped back.

“I’m a spy.” He stated. “It’s more or less my job to know that you’re lying. So tonight, I’ll take you home, make you dinner, and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and where the bruises really come from.”

“James...” Q started.

“This is not a negotiation.”

*

After they had cleared the leftovers from the takeaway – James’s version of making dinner – there was an awkward moment of silence. Q broke it in a resigned voice.

“Your room.” He said.

They headed over, and James sat on the bed, waiting for Q to lead things the way he wanted to. He looked very calm, but also a little sad, tensed, as if he was afraid he was at a turning point and everything was about to change, for the better or the worse.

“I am twenty-four years old.” He declared out of the blue.

James wasn’t that startled by the figure, although he quickly calculated the 12-years age difference.

“I’m still living with my parents.” Q said next.

Now that was more of a surprise. Maybe because he didn’t imagine Q in a different place than MI6 offices or his flat. Maybe because he had lived without parents for so long he didn’t imagine people with any. Maybe because he didn’t see how that was relevant.

He held his breath as Q lifted both cardigan and shirt together and slid them over his head in one slightly awkward move. And James saw. None of those marks could have come from falling down stairs. The cuts and bruises on Q’s pale skin clearly came from a beating. Several, actually. James had a good enough eye for those things – and enough evidence on his own reckless body – to be able to tell they didn’t all date back to the same time.

He got up, and Q tensed instinctively, but he let James approach and run his hands on his ribs, turn him over, inspect his battered back. There was the trace of a healing burn on the shoulder and base of the neck; James brushed it with his fingers, making Q shiver.

“Was that why the turtleneck?” He remembered.

“My father threw the coffee pot at me.” Q explained sternly. “It had just boiled.”

“I’m going to kill him.” James hissed between his teeth.

“No you’re not.” Q said. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t want you to know.”

James growled, but he didn’t deny that this was probably right.

“I’m assuming it’s a regular thing.” He said. He sounded angry. “Why would you not leave?”

Q shook his head slowly. He did not turn round, his back still to James. The agent didn’t need to see his face to know the pain he felt.

“There’s my little brother. I have a little brother. He’s fifteen. _He_ is not touching him much as long as he has me to hit. This is why I’m only working late during the week, when he’s in with our grand-parents; they live closer to his school. We told them, they don’t believe us, in case you’re wondering.”

He paused, looking down.

“Last week was half-term.” He added. “I couldn’t leave him. My mom _was_ ill though. Then again she always is. She’s...hollow. My brother is my only family, really.”

He fell silent. James kissed Q behind the ear, wrapping his arms around him gently.

“Let me take you both away, then.” He said.

“What?”

“I’m MI6, we’re both MI6, and – honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t... sorry, no, I don’t mean that. I have no idea what you went through, and I know this sort of things is difficult to pull away from. But my point is, we have the resources. We’ll report your father, get your mother some help, and you can become your brother’s legal guardian and find a place to live. This can stop, Q. You have to see it can stop.”

Q turned into James’s arms, and buried his face against his shoulder.

“Make it stop.” He whispered.

James tightened his arms around him.

“I will.”

And he meant it. He crossed a line, one he had not even thought about since he was eleven.

Home.

Vesper had made him want to be with her, to burn with her. Q made him want to build a home. To take him there and keep him safe. Him and his little brother, as long as the place was big enough or soundproof enough that they could keep shagging each other’s brains out on a regular basis without traumatizing anyone.

Home. It had a pleasant ring to it. A home of his own. He could use one of those. And he was quite sure a certain young Quartermaster could too.

“James.” Said Quartermaster’s voice eventually broke the silence softly.

“Yes?”

“You’re still holding me.”

“Yes.”

“You want to let go?”

“Never.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better, and then worse, and then good again.
> 
> "Through the bitter crowd, to the daylight"  
> (Live and Die, The Avett Brothers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this happened. I didn't think it would be so long, it's about twice the size of the first chapter! Oh well.
> 
> This is for Era_Penn, whose story (at long last) motivated me to write another chapter, because her take on the brothers was just too perfect. The names are hers (family name I added). Go read her work.  
> This is for all of you who wanted to read more of this, too. 
> 
> Warnings: violence.
> 
> PS: please note that I have no idea what the police say or do in those situations, I completely improvised.

Q was happy. It was a strange feeling, unusual in its completeness; he had of course already experienced highly satisfying moments, at work, or in James’s arms, but they had always been lined with latent anxiety, with a constant threat weighing on his shoulders. Now, as he pushed the last box into their new apartment, he felt so light he was almost dizzy.

“Is that everything?” His little brother asked from within, wiping sweat off his forehead.

His little brother. Safe. In their new apartment. Alexander stood there for a moment, smiling softly.

“Yes.” He said eventually. “This is everything.”

They hadn’t bothered collecting any of their stuff at their parent’s (Alex had picked the boy up after school that evening and they hadn’t gone back) but the amount of accumulated possessions in Lysander’s room at their grandparent’s was staggering, and Q had seized the opportunity to de-cluster his office as well. Yes, he now had an apartment with a study, with his own space to work when he wasn’t in HQ. Bliss. He could hardly get over it. He’d be able to spend evenings with his brother, evenings with his boyfriend, evenings with both of them, with his beloved computers within reach and in perfect safety.

James had indeed earned to title of boyfriend – in only because Lysander had tried everything else and it was the only term that didn’t make him snort. Q wasn’t sure James was exactly his _boyfriend_ , but he preferred this to the hysterical fits of laughter Lee had gone into when he had said _lover_ , for some unfathomable reason. Most of the time, anyway, there was no need to use any term at all, it was just James, and James was part of their little family, even if he had been clearly uncomfortable around the adolescent at first, and Lee pretty suspicious of the agent himself, when Q had first introduced them. But they were growing on each other, steadily. After all, Lee had to acknowledge, it was thanks to James that Q had finally overcome the crippling fear that Lysander would get hurt, and found the determination to decide that they would never go back to that place, that he was taking them both away – and filing a restraining order against _him_ until he could obtain custody of his underage brother. It was too soon in his and James’s relationship to move in together, especially with a kid to support, so Q had readily made the first significant indent in his earnings to buy themselves a flat.

“How much do they actually pay you?” Lee had asked, whistling, upon first visiting the new place his brother had picked (almost randomly, if he was honest, he only required enough space for the both of them (and a roomful of tech) and reasonable commute to Lee’s school and his own office).

“Enough.” He’d replied with a smile.

He confirmed this when they went shopping, buying anew everything he once owned, and had left in their previous hellhole of a home. The only things he regretted, maybe, were his books. They’d be read and reread, dog-eared, annotated, and they were truly his, stacked in that box under his bed. James suggested an expedition, but he shook his head. He wasn’t ready to go back, not now that he was out and had taste of freedom and happiness, even at times he supposed his father would be out. Call it a professional quirk, but he was only half sure _he_ wouldn’t have laid a trap for him, or Lysander, in case they showed up again. Guiltily, he hoped maybe the voicemail he had left about them leaving had given him a heart attack. But he supposed they’d have heard. When he told James that, it made him angry.

“Why would you feel guilty about wanting him dead?” He snapped. “You have every right to wish him to rot in Hell.”

“No, I don’t.” Q sighed. “He’s still a human being. He’s still my…genitor. Not everyone distributes life and death like you agents tend to.”

“You have too much heart.” James said.

“I know.”

Lysander kept telling him.

“Besides, you’re much more terrifying than I am when it comes to distributing life and death.” James added. “You can wipe out entire populations by pressing a few keys, while drinking tea. You don’t even need both hands.”

“But I don’t.” Q teased. “While your body count, 007, if I remember your file correctly-”

James shut him up with a kiss, and that was one of the times Lee didn’t walk in on them, so his lover – _boyfriend_ – heaved him up on the kitchen counter and thoroughly explored his mouth with his tongue.

“This- kitchen-” Q protested in between kisses and panting sounds. “Doesn’t have a lock- Ah!”

James’s hand had snaked under his shirt, and Q pushed him back.

“Lee’s in his room!”

“How soundproof and lockable is yours?” James asked, voice hoarse. “Room, I mean.”

“Really, who do you take me for?” Q answered.

James took that as a yes, and picked the young Quartermaster up again; Q locked his legs around James’s waist and let himself be carried, losing his breath in the other man’s throat, and thrown on the bed. James abandoned his mouth only a moment to lock the door, and was back to kissing him with intent in a blink. He nibbled at the side of his jaw, worried the skin of his neck with his teeth, licked a wet trail on a peeking collarbone, above the edge of his shirt.

“Can I undress you?” James asked.

Even after he had shown him, Q was still uncomfortable and self-conscious about the bruises marking his body, and preferred if they remained safely hidden by one or two layers of clothing. But the marks were fading, and there wouldn’t be any new ones, so, “Yes.” He answered with a smile.

“I could get used to this.” He sighed contently later, lying naked in James’s arms.

*

Q liked his new study; Lysander was off to school (with the promise he’d come straight home at the end of the day), James was off to work (he had to sort out glitches in the last mission report with Monneypenny) and Q has requested to work from home today – from _home_ , he smiled to himself, and not in a Starbucks like last time – so he could install security systems. Another safety net he didn’t have at his parents’; really, if his identity had filtered to the wrong ears in one way or another, anyone with a little motivation could have broken in and attacked the Quartermaster ridiculously easily. He had never told James this, but he had passed the basic MI6 physical tests by the skin of his teeth, and only because he had a rather high pain tolerance level. He was absolutely rubbish at self defence; the only thing he was good at was clenching his fists and taking it. Sure, that could be of some use if he needed to withhold information, he’d die before he revealed anything, but that was the thing; he’d die.

Behind his computers he felt safe, however. He hadn’t yet found anyone able to durably outsmart him in this field. Maybe it was why he made the mistake to get up absentmindedly, when there was a knock on the front door, and just go and open, eyes still fixed on the laptop balanced on his arm. He had made a few Amazon orders, new second-hand books; he assumed it would be a delivery.

It wasn’t.

He dodged the first thrown fist, and the laptop crashed on the floor. He tried to scramble away, looking for a door to put between himself and his father as the man lunged at him. He wasn’t quick enough, and two large, red, rough hands closed around his neck and slammed him against the wall.

“You little bastard.” He shoved him, the boy’s head hitting the wall hard. “You thought you could just go? Take your brother and go, with a fucking voicemail?” The hands tightened on his throat, cutting the air supply. “Leave all your shit in the house?” The man continued, breathing alcoholic breath to Q’s face – at least he couldn’t smell it, being unable to breath and all. “Thought I wouldn’t find you?”

 _Please_ , Alexander tried to say. He could only open his lips without a sound. Dark spots on his glasses. Then sudden release – his knee buckled beneath him and he found himself on the floor, gasping for air, only for a second before his father grabbed him again, pulling him up by his hair.

“I only had to call the school, you idiot.” The brute informed him, yanking aggressively. “And ask for my own son’s new address.”

Q couldn’t help a shudder at the mention of Lysander. Their father did not miss that.

“Oh yes.” He spat, tugging harder on his hair – Q was discovering there was an extraordinary amount of nerve endings in his scalp relaying pain to his brain. Yes, thank you for the information. “Wait until Lee gets back.” The old man distracted him with a different kind of pain, aiming straight for the heart. “See what he’ll get for following you.”

“You’re not touching him.” He snarled.

“Yeah?” His father dropped him – threw him to the floor, more accurately. “Because you’re going to take the beating for him, as always, like the fucking doormat you are?”

Q weighed his options. One: submit, get thrashed. Two: resist, get thrashed. Well. He tried to get up, but his father kicked him in the face, knocking the breath out of him. He had heavy boots, and Q felt like the entire side of his face was splitting open. He certainly tasted blood in his mouth. His glasses shattered and he felt a shard slash his eyelid. _Oh God_ , he thought. _Not my eyes. Please, God, anything, but not my eyes. I can’t be blind._ Blood blurred his vision as he forced his eyes to remain open when the man came at him again. The heavy boot kicked, throwing him on his back, and stomped on him again for good measure. Q felt, and heard the horrible sound of bone cracking – one or two of his ribs, surely. His father heard it too.

“Oh, so you can break?” He rejoiced viciously.

Q rolled on his side and spat some of the blood that was filling his mouth. He could feel his split lip swell up, and wondered briefly how he had managed to keep his face intact all these years. Maybe there was a sliver of intelligence in his father after all, and he purposely avoided leaving obvious marks.

Although they were clearly beyond that, right now. There was another sound, one of the most dreadful sounds he knew; the sound of the belt sliding off the loops of his father’s jeans.

“It does take a fucking lot though, doesn’t it.” The man commented, before the strip of leather came slashing across his son’s back.

A sob escaped Q’s lips, involuntary, helpless. It had been years since he hadn’t received a belting; he would lift his chin a little higher every day he twisted his body to look at his back in the mirror and saw the fading, non-renewed marks. But this, this was a psychological attack as well, this brought him back to when he was sixteen, and his father had slapped a seven year-old Lysander, who was so tiny and so fragile, and Alexander had gone down on his knees and _begged_ his father to punish him instead. It brought him back to the odd year or so when he would come to his father’s room every night on his own accord, remove his shirt, drop his head, and count the whiplashes. Ten on good days. Twenty if he hadn’t been a very nice boy – or if Lysander hadn’t been, although he made sure the younger boy never knew that. Sometimes thirty, sometimes he lost count, and was left with gashes so deep he couldn’t rest on his back for days – those scars hadn’t disappeared. It stopped when his mother took to not leaving the bed anymore, and was never out of the room. His father found other ways to lash out.

He was right, though. It took a lot to break him, but this was the way. Q found himself crying out with each snap of the belt against his back, pleas and apologies streaming out unfiltered, tears (and blood) running down his face, a scared and powerless child. In a small corner of his mind, he still noted that the flat was warm, and that it wasn’t a good thing, because if it hadn’t been warm, he would have been wearing more than a thin shirt, which fabric he knew was tearing, skin breaking underneath, under the violence of the strokes.

Eventually, it stopped. The man who still called himself his father tied his belt around his hips again with a satisfied sigh.

“I think you understand.” He said. “I’m giving you until tomorrow evening to sort out this stupidity-” -he waved around the entryway “-and come home. Both of you. I know where to find you.”

He slammed the door so hard it was almost an additional physical blow to Q’s curled up, shivering body on the floor. He released one relieved sigh, but instantly realized he was more scared now that the man had left – because he could be going anywhere; he could be going back to the pub, or home, and he could be heading up for Lysander’s school. Q coughed up more blood, and forced himself up on shaky arms, even shakier legs, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest and the blood and salt crusting his eyelashes. Ignoring, intently, the sting of air against the flesh of his back.

When his hand closed on his phone, he crumbled back down to the floor, and curled up again on his side – he couldn’t very well lie on his back, but he had to stay still somehow, if he didn’t want one of those broken ribs to puncture a lung. And he certainly couldn’t stay upright for very long.

He dialled James’s number, who picked up after a few rings.

“Q.” He said with a smile in his voice.

Q tried to leave the pain out of his.

“James.” He said, as levelled as possible. “Could you do me a favour?”

“Probably.” James answered. “What is it?”

“I need you to pick Lysander up at school.” He asked. “Now.”

He could imagine Bond’s frown at the other end of the line.

“Everything alright?”

“I uh, I hadn’t thought of that, but-” He could hear his voice shaking. “If there’s one place he’s going to look for us, it’s the school.” He cursed himself; he had indeed been an idiot, thinking they were safe.

“Your father?” James connected the dots.

“Yes.” He pushed the image out of his mind, although the taste of blood lingered. “Please, I can’t have him…Please.”

“I understand.” James told him reassuringly. “I’ll go right now, we’ll pick up takeaway and come home. Is that all right?”

“Good idea.” Q managed to keep his voice calm a little longer. “Thank you.”

Good, he thought hanging up. In the meantime, he’d have time to call an ambulance, or maybe if he was very careful take himself to A&E. He’d have to answer questions, they’d call the police, he thought. He didn’t want to talk about it. Even to obtain the restraining order, he hadn’t gone into details, he had basically pulled rank and made a pledge of good faith to a prosecutor who owed him a favour, no questions asked. Would they arrest his father? Would they have arrested him, anytime in the past twenty years, if he had gone to the hospital instead of letting his baby brother patch him up? Not that his injuries had ever been this serious. But he still had traces; would it have been enough for the police? Had he missed his chance, considering he was no longer underage, no longer required child services? His brain gave up solving this question, and Q faintly felt himself pass out.

*

James had considered inventing a story about Lysander’s very sick grandma, but in the end he only needed to be his usual charming self, and the young lady at the front desk would have pulled the boy out of class if her life depended on it. When she came back with him, James saw fear in his eyes, leaving place to a brief flash of relief, and then confusion. And then more fear.

“Is Alex okay?” He asked instantly.

“Alex?” James repeated – he wasn’t still unused to the name meaning Q. “Yes, he’s home.” He said.

He pulled the boy away from the woman batting her eyelashes at them, waved her goodbye with a thank you and a wink, and waited until they were out on the street to continue.

“He had a sudden worry that your father would come and find you here.” He explained. “He called me so I would pick you up.”

Lee nodded his head. “Yes, I thought of that when she said I needed to come with her.” He said with a shudder. “I thought it’d be him.” A beat, and then. “Why didn’t he come himself? Alex, I mean.”

James considered that. He must be warped up in his security systems. He must be hacking China. He must be…

“Did you give the school your new address?” He asked Lysander, unable to suppress the dread in his voice.

The boy paled, following the same train of thoughts. “Yes.”

“Get in the car.” James pushed him forward, thanking his earlier reluctance to take a cab.

“You weren’t with him?” Lee asked shakily as the car sped up, fumbling with the buckle of his seatbelt.

“No.” James growled. “I was at work.”

“What did he say on the phone? What did he sound like?” He was fighting tears, or a panic attack.

“Urgent.” James answered. “Maybe he just got a call. Maybe-” His throat closed up with rage and worry.

“No.” Lysander chocked. “No, he would have come himself. He’s hurt-” (a hiccup that wasn’t quite a sob) “-he’s hurt and instead of calling for help he sent you to me.”

“He called.” James pointed out, going imperceptibly faster, as fast as the traffic would allow. “He could call. He must have called 999. Or someone.”

He was clenching his teeth so hard they almost hurt. He should have heard, he should have guessed. Q did not _muse_ , thoughts didn’t just pop up in his head when he was busy doing something else, they were always brought by a more or less complicated train of convoluted associations of ideas. Of course something had triggered his fear that Lysander could be in immediate danger. And if he had asked James to pick him up instead of jumping into a cab himself, then…

The car screeched to a halt as they arrived in front of their apartment building, and Lee was out before James could turn off the engine. He followed right behind, and caught up on him with longer legs, and pressed the doorbell angrily as the boy fumbled with his keys, hands trembling uncontrollably. Not a sound inside.

Lysander finally managed to open the door; with a gasp, he noticed the smashed laptop immediately upon entering. And, a few feet further, blood stains. He froze, while James rushed forward, and found Q in his study, limp and bloodied on the floor. One of his hands found a pulse (fingers sliding through the locks of hair curling in that hollow between ear, neck and jaw, noticing the purplish handprints), and the other dialled for an ambulance.

“Help is on its way.” He then whispered to the unconscious Quartermaster. “Hang in there, Q.”

He didn’t dare move him, because there was a clear boot print on the front of his shirt, and thus potential internal bleeding, but he removed the broken glasses from his face, smoothed out hair and glass splinters away, wiped some of the blood on his nose and lips.

Lee crossed the threshold, and his gaze focused on the gashes on his brother’s back, blood sticking torn shreds of fabric to the exposed flesh. More scars, he couldn’t help but think. More scars, all because of him, all because he was too young and scared to protect himself, let alone another person, and Alex would rather die than see him get hurt.

“You should have been there.” He said. He probably meant himself, but James looked up, something unreadable in his eyes, and Lee started screaming.

“You should have been there!” He repeated again, shouting at James. “What is the point of you if you can’t protect him!”

He brought a hand to his mouth to catch a sob, heart-shattering, wrenching his entire body; he fell to his knees next to Alexander and tried to tell him he was sorry, and please be okay, through the tears now flowing freely down his face.

When the paramedics got there, a few minutes later, James released his grip on Q’s hand, and gathered Lysander into his arms, letting the boy cry into his shoulder.

“He’ll be fine.” He said, because he had to say something, although he didn’t know, couldn’t know. There was blood everywhere, and the injuries wouldn’t only be physical.

They followed the ambulance to the hospital in James’s car, Lysander crying silently in the passenger seat, James gripping the wheel so firmly his knuckles turned white.

They sat in the waiting room while the doctors took care of Q, and a policeman approached them.

“Hello.” He said cautiously. He was quite young, and adopted the appropriate sympathetic stance. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? We need a statement, in cases of criminal injuries. Did you witness the assault?”

Lysander wiped his nose, and lifted his drowned grey eyes to the man – James realized then they were the exact same colour as his brother’s, and his heart sunk as he remembered the closed eyelids, covered in blood.

“Not exactly.” The younger boy answered. “But it was my father. He’s been beating the crap out of him for twenty years. Never this-” He took a breath to steady his voice. “Never this badly.”

“Did you ever file a complaint?” The policeman asked softly.

Lee shook his head, and James could see by the resigned look on the man’s face that he’d expected it. Abused children rarely reported their parents.

“What’s your name?” He asked the teenager.

“Lee.” Lysander sniffled.

“Lee.” The officer repeated gently. “How old are you and your brother?”

“I’m fifteen, almost sixteen.” Lee informed him. “Alex is twenty-four.”

“Are you living with your parents?”

“Yes. Well, no, we just moved out. I think that’s why, that’s why he was so mad.”

His voice trembled again, and James put a hand on his shoulder for support. The policeman cast him a slightly curious look, but he didn’t say anything.

“We filed a restraining order, and he was going to ask for custody.” Lee further provided information.

“There’s a restraining order?” The officer seemed to perk up slightly. “That’s aggravating.”

“Because beating him half to death after twenty years of physical abuse isn’t aggravating enough?” James growled.

“That’s not what I meant.” The other man said. He brought his attention back to Lysander. “Would you mind putting everything down in writing?” He asked. Lee nodded. “And we’ll send someone to your house to apprehend your father. You will need to answer more questions, especially if there’s a trial, but just write about today for now, okay? Can you do that?”

Lee nodded again, and the officer directed him to his female colleague before turning to James.

“Are you a friend of the family?” He asked.

“I’m the boyfriend.” James answered. “Not the kid’s.” He amended, seeing the man’s little frown. “Alexander’s.” The name felt foreign, but he wasn’t exactly going to breach their identity to a bobby.

He gave him his version of the events, the time at which he had left Q, the phone call, the way he had found him (he swallowed hard when he had to describe the scene), as well as the previous evidence of abuse Q had shown him, eventually, after months of…he said friendship.

“Did the younger brother suffer abuse as well?” The man asked, blunt in a way he wouldn’t have been with Lee.

“Psychologically, certainly.” James answered. “But I don’t think he was… Alexander made sure he didn’t get hurt.”

“I see. I hum, I, we’ll see what the doctors say, but I think Alexander will have to stay here at the hospital for a while…” He was embarrassed, not quite meeting James’s eyes.

“Yes?” James raised an eyebrow.

“And hum, you’re not family.” He paused, but James didn’t react, so he cleared his throat again, and explicated his thought: “We have to call child services.” He said.

“Oh.” James caught on. “Yes, I suppose you can’t let him go home with me.”

“You’d have to be assessed as a suitable guardian first.” The policeman confirmed. “In the meantime, we have homes, I think it will be best for Lee to stay there for a while, until he can go back to live with his brother or we can find another more permanent solution. Unless there are other family members?”

James shook his head. “There are his grandparents, but he wouldn’t be safe there.” He said. He knew they needed more than Lysander’s testimony to go and arrest his father, and gathering Q’s version and/or checking CCTV feeds could take another couple of days. “They never believed the boys about the beatings.” He remembered Q telling him that.

“Okay.” The other man took note. “I’ll see if we can find him a room in a home not too far from here, so he can visit his brother. It would be good, however, if Lee could have a…an anchor. Do you live or work nearby?”

“I’ll be here.” James answered slightly sideways.

“Good.” The officer said. “I’ll ask, but if Alexander is…sound enough when he wakes up, I think he’ll be able to appoint you as Lee’s caretaker, as his next of kin. If he gives his written permission and you have no criminal record, you might be able to take him home.”

No criminal record, James laughed joylessly inwardly. Thank God he had a perfectly clean and very fake record, courtesy of Q-branch, to make up for his less than angelic file at MI6. All double-ohs needed that cover.

“Thank you.” James appreciated. He didn’t know Lee all that well, but he’d probably be better off staying with him than in a home for wards of the State.

“James.” Lysander came back towards them at that moment. “They say we can go and see him.”

He looked terrified. James confirmed with the officer that he had all he needed, nodded his thanks, and followed the nurse, a firm presence by Lee’s side, to Q’s room.

He was lying on his side, pretty much in the same position they had found him, one hand by his face, long fingers delicately curling up. His chest was bandaged, his back was one big plaster (he was only wearing hospital pyjama bottoms, upper body left bare), and one side of his face was a worrying shade of purple, down to his split and swollen lip. Brutally red, against the paleness of the rest of his skin, were clear strangulation marks on his throat and two cuts, one just beneath his eyebrow, the other on the bridge of his nose where the frame of his glasses had nicked the skin. James suspected other marks, beneath the sheet tucked under his elbow, bruises darkening here and there. And dents, invisible, to his confidence and his sense of safety.

He took his hand in his, feeling it cold and small, unusually vulnerable – Q’s hands were lethal weapons, when he poured his mind into them. Q’s eyes fluttered open, and his fingers closed a little on James’s.

“Lee.” Was his first thought, his first word.

“I’m here.” His little brother came forward, slotting in next to James, taking Alex’s other hand.

“Are you okay?” The elder asked.

Lysander’s face fell, and he started crying again. “I’m sorry. You can’t keep asking if I’m okay, you can’t keep…I am so sorry, so sorry…”

“Lysander.”

Lee hiccupped and snapped his gaze back to his brother, surprised (as James was) by the firmness of the tone.

“This is not your fault.” Q stated. “Do you hear me?”

“It is.” Lee countered miserably. “You always ask if I’m okay, you always protect me, and I-”

“It is not your fault.” Alex repeated. “He would always have hit me anyway. And if managed to keep that a _me_ instead of _us_ , then it’s a good thing. And it’s not your fault.”

“You could have escaped.” Lysander argued. “You could have escaped so long ago if I was never born.”

“I would be dead if you were never born.” Q retorted. “I would have killed myself about ten years ago.”

The sentence fell heavily between the three of them, followed by stunned, oppressive silence.

“You’re all I have.” Q broke it eventually, his voice soft. “Had.” He tightened his grip on James’s hand a little. “This is a little less true now, I haven’t had those thoughts in a while. Thankfully I managed to find a few perks to being alive in this world.”

There was another moment of loaded silence, which James, this time, interrupted.

“I think I just fell in love with you all over again.” He said gingerly.

Q’s breath caught.

“Again?” He picked up, eyes a little wide.

“Oh.” James realized. “Yes, I supposed I hadn’t said it before.”

“Do you need some space?” Lee asked half-humorously.

And, for the first time in his life, he was thrilled to see his brother all but ignore him, keeping his eyes fixed on the man who loved him, and whom he loved back. He stepped back with a smile, out of their shared personal space.

“You are the bravest, smartest, most incredible person I have ever met.” James was saying in earnest. “And I love you.”

“This is going to hurt.” Q answered. “But I would like you to kiss me right now.”

“Oh, God!” Lee protested. “Wait until I’m out of the room, at least!”

They shared a shaky laugh, and Lysander gave them a moment, closing the door behind him.

James pressed his lips, softly, to the side of Q’s mouth that wasn’t cut open. Q thought that hardly counted as a kiss, but he didn’t argue. James rested his forehead against his, stroking his hair, and Q reached up to press his hand to the agent’s cheek.

“How are you feeling?” James asked, knowing he’d be more honest if he could spare his brother from hearing it.

“Like a car crash.” Q answered indeed quite earnestly. “But it could have been worse. No internal bleeding, ribs only cracked, not broken. And I’m not blind.”

James drew back a little to look at him, stroking his thumb against the cut on Q’s eyelid.

“That was close.” He did note.

“I was terrified.” Q whispered. “I thought I had stopped being scared of him, unless it was for Lee, I thought I had nothing to lose if not my brother, but… there’s so much he could take from me.”

“He won’t.” James pledged.

A sudden, violent surge of panic shook Q’s frail shoulders.

“He’ll be back.” He blurted out worriedly. “Where is Lysander? Where is Lee?”

“He’s right outside, he’s safe.” James hushed, stroking his hair, holding his hand. “The police have been warned. Don’t fret, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“He’s safe.” Q repeated, a little frantic. “He’s safe. I’m not blind.”

“You’re exhausted.” James assessed. “You should rest. I’ll take Lee for a bite, if social services let me, and we’ll be back, okay?”

“It’s the painkillers.” Q pleaded, closing his tired eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Rest.” James ordered. “We’ll be back.” He promised.

*

Lysander never went to any social home after all. They slept in the hospital that first night, taking turns watching over Q and nodding off in a half-comfortable sofa in a waiting room on another floor, and in the morning, after a quick neurological exam, Q ‘I, the undersigned Alexander Bryant’ authorized James (“of course your name would basically be _brilliant_ ”) to take care of his little brother for the length of his hospital stay.

Lee didn’t want to go back to the flat where Alex had been attacked, which was probably a sound decision, so James said he would sort out his guest room. Lee didn’t want to go back to school either, the next day, but they were shooed out of Q’s hospital room, who needed to rest and talk to the police (he didn’t want Lysander there for that), so James took him to HQ. It was against every rule, but he couldn’t bring himself to (and had promised Q not to) let the boy out of his sight. And he did have to see M about the fact that his Quartermaster wouldn’t be working for a few days, and probably working from his bed for a while after that.

Lee toyed with his visitor badge, shy about his presence in the building.

“So this is where Alex works.” He murmured thoughtfully.

“Not exactly.” James said. “This is the lobby. Most of the actual secret service is protected by an intricate network of corridors and a lot of doors with code pads. You’ll see.”

Lysander followed, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack, as James lead him through the aforementioned corridors.

“One more thing.” He stopped before one last door. “You’re not supposed to be here, and there might be more than one person yelling at me because of that. Ignore them. And make yourself as invisible as possible.”

Lee didn’t point out that he had perfected this skill many years ago.

“Monneypenny!” James greeted the woman at the desk cheerfully.

She didn’t mirror his smile, and her eyes narrowed directly on the teenager by his side.

“Who is that?” She demanded. “And the answer better not be _a civilian_.”

“Not a civilian, then.” James answered a little cheekily. “A future recruit, maybe, in a couple of years?” He turned to Lee, who danced from one foot to the other, embarrassed. “Not a threat at any rate, and my responsibility at the moment.” Bond concluded. “I need to see M.”

“I assume this is about Q?” Eve sighed. “Since he usually warns when he doesn’t turn up for work, and you’re walking around with what looks like a younger version of him. What have you done?”

“Nothing reproachable.” James replied, his tone a notch colder. “Can you keep an eye on him?” He designated Lee, and stepped into M’s office.

“What-” Monneypenny didn’t have time to stop him. “Oh, fuck him.” She turned to the teenager. “So what is this all about? No offence to your intelligence but I don’t think you can fill in for your brother. Cousin. Whoever Q is to you.”

“Brother.” Lysander confirmed. “None taken, it sounds rather like a compliment to him. I still need a few years to join him in the top twenty smartest people on Earth.”

Eve smiled, this time, to the boy.

“Oh, you do come from the same genetic pool.” She said amusedly. Then, coming to knit her brow, worry. “Wait, did something happen? Is Q all right?”

Lee pursed his lips to stop them from quivering.

“He’s in the hospital.” He said very quietly. “Actual bodily harm.” He put it in technical terms.

Eve remained still for a moment, then she stood up, took Lee’s arm, and steered him towards the sofa.

“Sit down.” She ordered. “I’m going to get you some cocoa.” She had a little laugh. “I never quite dared offer that to Q, since he outranks me, but he’s exactly the kind of person you want to make cocoa for.” A thoughtful pause. “Or a cup of Earl Grey, I guess.”

She shook her head and went to the little kitchen counter in the next room. A few minutes later, she placed a warm mug in Lysander’s hand, and sat next to him.

“Are you okay?” She asked. “You must be worried.”

“Thank you.” Lee said first. And: “Yes, but he’s strong. He’ll be all right.” He had to believe it. And he did know how strong Alex was. He was a man who saved the world now and then, and saved his little brother every day. And never mentioned it.

“Still.” Eve said gently. “And you’re stuck with Bond as a babysitter. Can’t be easy.”

Lee had a faint smile. “I like him.” He said. “He makes Alex happy.”

Eve startled slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Not about the name (Alex had told Lee about her, and he knew she had access to staff files, but now he wondered if she had clearance to his brother’s – _outranks me_ , she’d just said?) and even less about the statement. They sat in silence, Lee drinking his hot chocolate, until James emerged back from M’s office.

“Oh.” He said upon seeing them here. “I see you’ve adopted him.”

“Well he’s like Q.” Eve justified. “Who already looks like a baby bird that’s just fallen from the nest. Only even smaller.”

“Let’s go.” James sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Before she starts force-feeding you.”

“Wait.” She stood up. “How is he?”

“He’s-” James swallowed. “He’s hurt. But you know Q. You could cut off his fingers and he’d find a way to keep working.”

Lysander edged perceptibly closer to James, shuddering at the thought. Eve gave him a little smile; she had probably filled in the blanks of what’d happened, pieced what information she had together to reach the right conclusion. James addressed her a small nod, and almost wrapped an arm around Lee to take him away, protective, but not quite familiar enough to touch him. James Bond taking care of a teenager, Eve thought, watching them walk away together. If this isn’t love.

“Where are we going now?” The boy asked when they were out in the street.

James looked at him, this scared and brave boy, who had such a place in Q’s heart, extraordinary Q, who had such a place in his. An anchor, he thought. I can be that. He looked at Lee and then, this time, did put an arm over his shoulders.

“Home.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think James just adopted Lee? ^o^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Break A Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/884814) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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